An Unlikely Pair
by Hogwarts Online II
Summary: Why is Umbridge batting her eyelashes at Lucius Malfoy? Ron is seeing who! What's going on in the world? Crack pairings!
1. Dolores UmbridgeLucius Malfoy

**Title: So Very Silly**

**House: Ravenclaw**

**Name: Rosawyn/ Rosa**

* * *

It was so very silly of her, but Dolores Umbridge had a crush on a married man. Not just any married man, of course, but a pure-blood—a rich, powerful, arrogant pure-blood man who was married to a rich, powerful, arrogant pure-blood woman. The couple had a son, but Dolores wasn't jealous of that; she had no desire for children of her own. But Lucius Malfoy—the entirely beautiful and entirely powerful platinum-blond wizard—was something she did desire in the deepest, silliest recesses of her terribly silly heart.

If she let her mind wander, and she found that she did far too often, she could see it all so well. The details would change, but much remained the same: sometimes she was at work, sometimes walking through the park or making a purchase at a shop. But Lucius would approach her, moving gracefully with lazy confidence, only the nearly-imperceptible spark of interest in his eye betraying his cool, unaffected exterior. She would catch sight of him out of the corner of her eye, and her heart would start pounding in her chest. She would barely be able to tear her eyes away from the compelling beauty that he was.

Of course, she'd be even more flustered when he spoke to her—how was she to respond to such a man? Even in her own mind, Dolores knew powerful men preferred submissive women to those who met their arrogance with an answering arrogance. To be sure, he might have married such a woman, but that didn't mean he preferred her. Dolores had been watching Lucius for some time, and while he was always discreet, she had seen his eye wander many a time. He was a man who appreciated beauty, that was clear. But it was also clear that he was a man who was easily bored.

Dolores had never technically had a boyfriend—unless you counted Cornelius, but Dolores certainly never did. That was business, after all. A little pleasure mixed with business, but certainly more for him than for her as far as the pleasure went. But she could imagine how Lucius' fingers would feel brushing tantalizingly over her skin and how his lips would feel pressed possessively over her own. She imagined he would taste like expensive firewhiskey and dark chocolate with a hint of smoke and venom. His eyes would look on her with menacing amusement as he crushed her wrist against the wall with a grip so strong it left bruises. She would have to be careful to keep her sleeve over the marks to avoid unnecessary gossip. But she would relish the secret knowledge that he had marked her in a way no one could ever know but the two of them. Because she would let him see the marks he left on her body. He would like that. He would smile in amused satisfaction, and she would thrill to see his satisfaction directed at her. She would do anything to have even a hint of his satisfaction directed at her.

* * *

She was sitting at her desk in her office at the Ministry of Magic one rather dull afternoon. The sounds of pleasant mewing from the adorable kittens on her walls filled her ears and made her smile contentedly as she carefully adjusted the angle of her quill pen. The sky outside her window was grey, and it looked like it might rain. It had been quite chilly when she left home that morning, and the air had been unpleasantly damp.

She didn't have any more appointments for the day, so she was somewhat surprised when her door opened, but she thought it must be a co-worker with some sort of question for her until she saw him standing there like he'd walked right out of her favourite daydream: Lucius Malfoy, resplendent in elegantly expensive garb with his imposing walking stick held lazily in his hand and a shimmer of candlelight on his perfectly-groomed hair. The corner of his mouth turned up slightly as his eyes fell on her.

When he spoke, it was somehow even more wonderful and terrible than it had ever been in her imagination: she felt as thought her heart was going to literally explode in her chest—and wouldn't that just be embarrassing? "Ms Umbridge is it?" The man's voice was like honey poured over raspberry sherbert with a shot of fine firewhiskey.

She willed herself to appear calm, replying as she had so many times in her mind. "Yes; can I help you?" She hoped her smile looked both pleasant and pretty without seeming forced.

Her heart fluttered at the predatory look in his eyes as he replied. "I do believe you can."

She had the sudden urge to pinch herself, hard. It was so very silly of her.


	2. Dudley DursleyLuna Lovegood

**Title: Silver Moon**

**House: Slytherin**

**Name: oh nargles/Tenzy**

* * *

_It was strange_, he thought, _strange like her._

Dudley, after a moment, realised that he had called his own son _it_, and quickly amended his thoughts.

_He's strange._

It was a confusing and annoying thing in Dudley's opinion.

His son looked like him, looked like the carbon copy of him, _and was_ the carbon copy of him except he wasn't.

_He was like her._

His son looked like him but he thought like his mother.

_Nargle_ was his first word.

His parents had been unnerved by the strange monosyllable.

_What on Earth is that?_ They had asked.

It occurred to Dudley then that he had never thought to ask _her_ himself, not that he could now.

She was six feet under. Passed on. Dead.

It surprised him, his own parents' lack of tact. They had never approved of the dreamy-eyed blonde girl he had brought home one day though, so in retrospect he really shouldn't have been so surprised, but he was, because he was all the more a fool.

She had called him that on her deathbed.

_A fool._

That was what his parents had called her, but Dudley had never had the heart to tell his wife that.

He wasn't a fool because of the standard, normal things (which was to be expected in all honesty, his wife wasn't exactly standard or normal), no, he was a fool because he didn't believe.

_Believe in what?_ He had wanted to ask, but it was too late for the light had already gone out of her eyes.

As he looked at his son in his large bed, it seemed to Dudley that the bed seemed to swallow his minuscule son.

His son, minuscule, were words Dudley had never thought would go together (unless of course _is not_ was put in the middle).

Henry was a younger version of him and yet he was _her_ most of all.

He couldn't bring himself to say her name after her death, it was like four simple letters were a curse (funny that, she was a witch, magical, supernatural but she couldn't save her own life, it seemed unbelievable to Dudley).

There were so many _abnormal_ people at her funeral. His parents had objected but he had insisted, despite the magic that created a rift between his wife and his parents, they had been fond of each other, however reluctant to admit it his parents were.

Two couples stood out in Dudley's mind, everyone else shared fond memories of the girl who wore radishes as earrings of all things but the tales the two couples told were the ones imprinted in his memory.

His cousin and an impossibly ginger girl, looking back Dudley often wondered what could have been, what might have been, his cousin had been the one to introduce him to _her_ and it always filled Dudley with gratitude but at her funeral he had been curious. His cousin Harry had always been the punching bag but Harry had Ginger and Dudley ended up with no one. (His son didn't count at the time, Dudley had been angry and had shafted temporary responsibility to his parents, orders to stamp the insanity out of him had been taken with surprise by his parents, surprisingly.)

They looked happy and it filled Dudley with a deep resentment that they were happy at a funeral, especially _her_ funeral.

The other couple was made up of a girl with bushy brown hair and another ginger (in fact there were several gingers at _her_ funeral and if Dudley had been in better spirits he would've commented to himself on the rise of the gingers, and then cackled and his terrible joke). They were in Dudley's opinion, the perfect example of mourners. Clad in black the both of them seemed sullen, tears were not streaming down their faces and yet Dudley could tell they were grieving by their expressive faces.

To Dudley it seemed they were grieving about more than just _her_, but Dudley never revisited that train of thought, a funeral was a funeral. Funerals were, obviously, spent thinking about the effects of the loss of the deceased, not on couples that may or may not be facing relationship trouble.

As the open window cast the light of the moon on his sleeping son, Dudley attempted once more to say _her_ name.

It was therapeutic, was what his cousin had said.

It was dangerous to mourn for too long, Dudley had scoffed at the time but it hurt and hurt and Dudley simply wanted a way to ease the pain.

It had been four years and Henry would grow up very quickly was what Harry had said, much to Dudley's annoyance. (It was _her_ idea to call their son Henry, he had wanted to call his son Harry but Henry was better, she had insisted, it was tactful too as Dudley found out, his parents may not have had much ill will to their nephew but for his mother it was still a sore subject).

Looking up at the moon Dudley felt ridiculously cliché (how many films had he seen with characters looking up at the moon before fighting a battle? He supposed he was fighting a battle in his own way, he desperately wanted to win but he wasn't sure what winning meant).

_Luna_. He whispered to no one.

_Luna, Luna please forgive me. Please don't be mad because I didn't treat Henry the way you would've wanted him to be. Luna I love you._

Dudley felt silly talking to the moon but he also felt like the moon was listening.

For the first time in what felt like forever Dudley allowed a genuine smile to cross his face.


	3. Peter PettigrewDolores Umbridge

**Title: Sticking Place**  
**House: Slytherin**  
**Name: MadameGiry25/Giry**  
**Pairing: Peter Pettigrew/Dolores Umbridge**

* * *

He saw her picture in _the Daily Prophet_. She smiled triumphantly out under a blaring headline that boasted of her new appointment as Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher at Hogwarts School. The Prophet journalist boasted of her position, proclaiming the wisdom of the position. But he could hardly see the article. His eyes traveled up and down the photograph, seeing her smile and wave. Her eyes seemed to bore into him and he caught himself catching his breath at the sight. He had seen her many times before in the _Prophet_ and at the Ministry. But not like this.

* * *

I can see her eyes

Their light burns into my soul

I can only gape

* * *

He had never spoken to her in person; he knew that she would never stoop to speak to the likes of him. In the past, there had never been a reason to speak. She was just another person who worked at the Ministry. And he wasn't quite sure why this particular photo stood out to him. He was proud of her accomplishment, of course. It would be good for Hogwarts to experience discipline. If her past deeds were anything to go by, she would give them what they needed. He wondered if the Master had something to do with it.

* * *

Photo entrances

I must pull my eyes away

There is no future

* * *

The woman in the photograph tilts her squat head and smiles at him, one eye closing in a knowing wink. He felt a shiver run down his spine at the motion. He didn't understand why he was feeling this way. He didn't understand the meaning. And he wasn't sure that there was a meaning. Perhaps he was just jumpy after spending so much time with the Master. That was always a possibility. But that didn't explain why he found himself unable to shake the gaze of the woman in the photograph. There was something in her scrutiny that chilled him.

* * *

Why does she do that?

Why does she keep my eyes fixed?

What is in that stare?

* * *

With a start, he tossed the newspaper down onto the table. But even that could not pull him out of the inky folds of paper and return him to the real world. There was no real world. Nothing but the slatted chair that poked his back, the wooden table before him, and the paper. The photograph. All of the rest of the world was a memory, as though a spell had been cast to keep him from reality. His mind registered fear and obsession and wonder in the same breath. He shivered, his eyes melting into the picture once more.

* * *

This feeling is new

Bordering on obsession

It is not called love

* * *

His eyes captured by the photograph, he wondered if a spell had been cast to keep his attention. He can feel a want that is so strong it takes his breath away. But a want for what? The need, the pull is unfamiliar and inexplicable. He put a hand to his stomach, feeling butterflies take flight. No. Not butterflies. Snakes. Snakes that wriggled and hissed inside his stomach, releasing a steam that traveled up to his throat and out his mouth. Alarmed, he jerked his head back. He focused on the wood of the table. Just to keep him calm.

* * *

Tremble down my spine

A feeling of such desire

It won't go away

* * *

Deep breaths. In and out. In and out. Slowly. Carefully. In and out. Tame the snakes. Pull the mind out of the fear. Cover the picture with his hands. He began to feel a bit calmer. Slowly, he forced his mind to go back and consider. This was the first newspaper that he had seen in months. He had been in hiding at the Master's orders. He was lonely. He was starved of company. This was the first human being that he had seen for a very long time. Surely that must be the reason. That must be the reason.

* * *

Push the feelings gone

I'll get them out of my head

With a twinge of grief

* * *

He came back to the present moment, his limbs beginning to relax. He was now able to look at the photograph without feeling the snakes writhe within. He would have liked to say that the photograph no longer had an effect on him. She was so beautiful, despite what others might say. He wondered if the feelings were more than loneliness. He knew that it wasn't possible. He shouldn't think that way. She would never love him in return. Love? Did he just think that? Surely not. He was immune to love. That happened to other people, not to him.

* * *

I know it's not there

I must shut out the lady

Not without heartache


	4. Ron WeasleyPansy Parkinson

**Title: Untitled**

**House: Hufflepuff**

**Name: Love From A Muggle aka Kara**

* * *

****

Ron had an itch. A bugging, nagging itch on his left arm. Ron found himself scratching the itch every time he turned around to do something. He kept scratching it in between attending to customers at his brother's shop. The spot became so red, even though there wasn't a bump at all. He itched his spot when a voice from his past came back to haunt him.

"You know, if you keep itching that spot you'll make it raw and it'll bleed?" Her nagging voice caused Ron to stop itching and turned around. He rolled his eyes.

"Why do you care?" Ron said rudely as George walked past. George stopped, glared at Ron and walked up to the two of them.

"Manners, dear brother of mine. Manners. Even if it is someone you can't stand." George glanced at Pansy and walked away.

Pansy snickered as his brother walked away watching Ron's face turn as red as his hair.

"Can I help you?" he asked in an annoyed voice.

"Not anymore. Who knows what you have now that you've been itching that same spot for a while," Pansy said.

Ron acted like he wanted to tell her to shove off when she handed him a tall, skinny white bottle. He looked at her confused.

"It's ointment. My own design. I'm a Medi-Witch now, and on the side I'll make up my own medicine when I see we need something. Don't give me that look until you've tried it."

Ron scrunched up his face and wrinkled his nose in disgust

"I don't trust you," he stated flatly.

"Excuse me." Pansy took the bottle back, twisted the lid off, and grabbed his arm. When she did, she put the silvery substance from the bottle on his arm and rubbed it in until it went away. Ron's eyes grew wide in amazement as he snatched back his arm.

"What's in that stuff?" he asked no longer seeing a red spot or feeling the itch.

"Secret ingredient," Pansy said handing him back the bottle. "In case you need more." She smiled.

"Would you, you know like to go to dinner with me?" He blushed, feeling the color come to his cheeks for he was asking someone out on a date, someone that wasn't Hermione. Someone that was an ex Slytherin. This someone was someone who tried giving away his best friend to Voldemort when she first had a chance. He laughed in his head at himself. If Harry knew who he had asked out on a date, he wouldn't be happy. Ron forced himself to smile and brush the thought out of his head.

She laughed at him, thinking he was joking. When she realized he wasn't she stopped laughing and formed a slight cough.

"You don't have to take me out to dinner because of the miracle cream. Keep it, free of charge."

She started to walk away. Ron blinked twice, feeling really stupid for both asking her out and not knowing why. He turned to George, as George gave him a nod. Ron then walked out of the shop after Pansy. He followed her until he came around the corner. When she turned around, she smiled at him.

"If you're going to follow me around like a lost puppy, I'll go out with you," Pansy said.

"You're going out with me? Why?"

"Because, you're different from the men that I usually go out with. So you were a Gryffindor, and I was a Slytherin, who cares. After all, you'll see who I really am when I go out with you."

Ron was silent for a moment.

"What?"

"Who you really are?" he questioned as he raised his eyebrows staring at her.

"Look, there's nothing wrong with me, there were just nasty rumors spread around at Hogwarts, mostly started by Malfoy," Pansy said his name with a look of disgust on her face. Ron couldn't help but grin.

"I don't care for him myself. At least we have that in common. Alright, I'll meet you back here tomorrow at eight. I have the night off," Ron said smiling.

**The Next Night**

Ron fiddled with the napkin at the table more than once. He kept changing the arrangement of the fork and spoon. Nerves were never his strong suit.

She arrived five minutes early to his surprise. She wore a red v-neck sweater with nice slacks. He was grateful she didn't dress provocative.

Their evening started off with drinks. Not alcohol related, tea for her and coffee for him. Ginny got him hooked on coffee. He wondered why she didn't drink alcohol. And asked her about it.

"Because, I want to have a clear head while having a first date. I want to remember things.," she replied. He nodded in understanding. He wasn't one for drinking either.  
To his surprise, he found himself having a great time. She wasn't at all what he expected. By the time the date was over, he walked her out of the restaurant. They decided to part ways at the restaurant.

"Ron, I know you normally don't date girls like me, but would it be alright if we saw each other again?" Her question stunned him.

"Girls like you? You mean modest? Pansy, truth be told I was glad you didn't drink on your first date. I was also glad you didn't kiss me." He knew he stated his wording wrong when he saw her frown.

"What do you mean I didn't kiss you? You're supposed to kiss me, but I'm glad you didn't. I don't kiss on a first date. I told you, all the rumors about me in Hogwarts weren't true. I am not the kind of girl who sleeps around like people say I do. People think they know me, but they really don't." She sounded frustrated, and looked really hurt.

"I am sorry, I didn't mean for it to come out like that.," Ron admitted. "I guess I really don't know you at all." Ron continued.

"No you don't. In fact, no one does. Not even my best friend Daphne." She crossed her arms against her chest.

"Pansy-"

"No, Ron if you don't want to go out with me I understand. I'm not the type you're looking for either. If you want a slut, I can hook you up with sluts."

"Pansy, that shows how much you know about me. Didn't you hear me say I'm glad you're not a slut? People give things away too easily these days," Ron said honestly. "Can I at least give you a hug?" he asked giving her an honest look of apology.

She hugged him and kissed him lightly on the cheek.

"I thought you didn't kiss on the first date."

"I'm allowed to kiss a gentleman on the cheek." She smiled and winked at him.

"So, about our second date. When will it be?"

"I'll send an owl. Or who knows, I may just want something from the joke shop again."

"Or I might have an itch and have to come visit you."

"We'll work something out."

As she walked away, he smiled to himself.

"She really isn't the girl I thought she was. I'm glad I had that itch." He grinned knowing he would always remember his first date with Pansy. Someone who was completely different than what he thought she was. He knew from then on not to judge anyone anymore.


End file.
